


Promise Me...

by Paintbrushyy_Ducky98



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Child Abandonment, Deadbeat Dad, Intense, KuroKen - Freeform, M/M, Promises, Redemption, Sexy, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, a little bit of iwaoi, alcoholic father, also physical abuse, and actions, angsty af, bokuroo - Freeform, domestic abuse, holy shit this story is a mess, iwaoi - Freeform, kuroo is really messed up, multi chapter fic, omg I'm so sorry, so take caution, this is wont all come up in chapter 1, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paintbrushyy_Ducky98/pseuds/Paintbrushyy_Ducky98
Summary: Kuro has lost everyone, that is until he meets kenma, kenma brings the light back into his life.





	

Kuroo’s life has always prefered the darkness. He doesn’t ask for it, or maybe he does, but either way, the shadows still hover. His helmet is tight against his temples, the concrete running as a blur under his bike, the blur of the world around him bleeding together with his tears. The speedometer bounces at 90, he’s going too fast. The railroad tracks are blinking. He doesn’t slow down. 100. The track is closing, the crossing bars falling. Kuroo doesn’t press the breaks. There’s a train crossing. He’s going too fast, the railroad is too close. The clutching in his chest bursts and everything goes blank. It’s a dream. IT’S A DREAM! His mind screams and his heart lurches in his chest bursting him forward. He doesn’t feel the pain, there’s too much of it.  

Kuroo blinks, his eyes blurry with the morning, his chest tight with the weight of his dream. A dream. It was the dream again. That’s, the... that’s the third time this month. Why doesn’t he crash? Why doesn’t he just break? Why does he keep going? That dream keeps haunting him like it’s trying to tell him something. His mother would have made him look it up in her dream dictionaries if she was still here. Kuroo throws another piece of wood in his fireplace. The house is cold this winter, even more so because he’s alone. Kuroo looks at his calendar and crosses out another day. It’s been 5 years since he left, 6 since she died. He thinks about her like she’s a crumpled flower, her wilted petals being plucked by the world until she just collapses and cuts her own stem, like the bullet she put through her head. The bathroom still has the stain, in front of the bathtub next to where the bullet hit the wall. He can still hear the shot, and the screaming, the intensity of the night carved into this memory with fearful daggers and signed with his mother’s blood. God he needs to get out of this house, get to a new city, somewhere he doesn’t know anyone, where he won’t be looked at like he’s something to pity, as the messed up kid who was abandoned by his father, and still lives in the house his mother killed herself in. He needs to leave.

“Today’s as good a day as any, I guess.” He says to the fire. It responds with a flicker, left then right, shrinking under the ashes of history, of the memories that suffocate this house. Kuroo throws the duffle on the bed, shoving in his five shirts and underwear, dumping in his toiletries and zips up the bag. The room doesn’t look any different, still as lonely. He tosses the bag over his shoulder and closes the door behind him, burns his calendar, and snuffs out the fire. The air outside isn’t any colder, the grass is dying, though it was probably never living, to begin with, at least not that Kuroo can remember. He rolls his bike out of the empty garage, the only thing his father didn’t take. The bike purrs to life under him. 

“Kuroo.” A voice says from the sidewalk. Kuroo looks in the direction, at the bags under the person’s eyes, their teeth rotting with addiction, their skin aged by suffocation the smoke of their cigarette practically sticking to them. 

“You coming to the bar tonight?” He asks. Kuroo recognizes him but doesn’t remember his name. He pulls his helmet over his head flipping down the visor. The guy watches him as he pulls out of the driveway. He never responds to him and doesn’t look back either. 

The wind beats heavily on his helmet, on his jacket and limbs. He could let go now and be pulled away by the wind, crash and forget it all. But for some reason, when he thinks of letting go, his fingers hold on tighter. He knows a guy in Tokyo, that doesn’t know his story but knows his name. A person he can lie to and have them believe him. He cuts through the traffic, speeding between the cars. He feels weightless going so fast, keeping attention for red and blue lights, but all he sees is black, an infinite darkness that spreads out in front of him, lit only by his headlight and the lights of the other cars. He left his old town about 4 hours ago, and when he saw the sign, when he crossed the border, he thought he’d feel some sort of weight lifted off of him. But, honestly, he didn’t feel a thing. That’s the problem with having scars from people who leave you. You can never leave them behind because all that's left is your pain, not theirs. There’s no satisfaction, no relief, no feeling of being free from them, because, they’re not there anymore, you’re just leaving an empty shell for a colder, lonelier world to be naked in. 

It’s raining in Tokyo. Kuroo’s jacket is heavier on his shoulders because of it. He wants to leave it in the gutter, but if he ever found out, Kuroo would probably lose an eye or a finger. So he holds it tighter. He parks his bike outside the house, a street light illuminating it. He hunches under his dripping jacket from the pouring rain, uselessly trying to hide. Their door is red, the numbers on the side black. He reads them in the blur of water. 104, just like it said on the computer. He had stopped at the apple store, they were open still, and searched up the guy he met the last time he was here. He knocks on the door, the sound echoing through the apartment, even the windows rattle. Someone answers the door, but it’s not who Kuroo’s looking for. 

“Um, I’m looking for someone.” He says. The guy tilts his head to the side, eyes slightly wide, the brown showing through even in the darkness. His hair flips to the side in waves, making him look like some sort of model. 

“Iwa-chan?” The guy yells from the door. 

“Yeah, who is it?” 

“I think someone’s here for you.” Iwaizumi appears from around the corner and stops when he sees Kuroo. He looks different, taller, buffer. 

“Kuroo?” He says.

“Sup,” Kuroo responds. His mouth tastes awful like he’s reliant on someone, dependent. It taste of iron, like the heated blood that use to gush from his cheek. He coughs on the memory, shaking off the tension. 

“Come on in.” Iwaizumi ushers him out of the rain and into their foyer. 

 

*      *     *      

 

“So you need a place to stay,” Iwaizumi repeats. He rubs his fingers around his temples thinking. He pauses, and snaps his fingers. He pulls out his phone and types in a message. 

“I think I know a place where you can rent in exchange for labor.” He says. Kuroo doesn’t flinch, but Iwaizumi corrects his statement anyway. 

“I mean, like work. Not labor.” His phone buzzes and Iwaizumi grins. 

“Perfect. An old friend from High school, Kyoutani, he owns a bar and the apartment above it recently became vacant, he says you can take it if you’re willing to work at the bar during the day.” Iwaizumi holds the phone ready to respond. Kuroo doesn’t hesitate to agree. 

“He says you can move in tomorrow, cause he’s not on shift right now to open it up. So you can stay here for the night.” Iwaizumi nods at the couch, getting up from his seat on the coffee table. The model-like guy, which Kuroo quickly figured out is Iwaizumi’s finance named Oikawa, hands him a coffee in a purple mug. 

“Thanks man, it means a lot,” Kuroo says, but he doesn’t look up from the clouds that billow up from the hot coffee.

“I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets,” Oikawa says. He returns with a white sheet and pillow that’s been flattened from use. Kuroo takes it, faking a smile.

They went to bed as soon as Kuroo thanked them again, the apartment falling silent. Kuroo sits on the floor in front of the couch, the dim lamp light giving the living room a light glow of life that’s almost haunting, small corners of darkness creeping into sight only to disappear when looked at. Kuroo removes his wet shirt and pants in exchange for a dry pair of basketball shorts from his bag. The couch is soft and the sheets are cold. He clicks off the lamp, letting the shadows envelop the rest of the room, all but the windows shrouded in black. He actually left that house, hopefully, this time, he won’t ever go back.  

“Wonder how long I’ll be here for?” He whispers, and turns over to sleep, the gravitational pull of his exhaustion finally weighing him down, and pulling him over the edge, consuming him.   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading more to come soon... hopefully. DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!!!! I love hearing from you guys it makes my day!!!
> 
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> Tumblr: http://paintbrushyy.tumblr.com/


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